Hero
by INK
Summary: Four long years of being alone. But when Heero and Duo meet up again in a botched mission, the consequences of their actions may be more disastrous than the mission itself. Sometimes, the line between love and lust is very, very thin.
1. Heaven Don't Hear Me

Let it be known to all ye who would read this story, that it contains yaoi, ie boys kissing boys, and in the next chapter lemon, meaning boys having graphic sex with boys. If this is something you aren't comfortable with, please do not waste my time and yours with flames, but turn around and go elsewhere.

To all others: Enjoy.

__

I'm so high

I can hear heaven

I'm so high 

I can hear heaven

But heaven

No heaven don't hear me

****

Part I

My head swims momentarily, the ceiling above me blurring as I try to clear my vision. The dizziness fades, slowly, and the room comes back into focus. I sigh heavily, sagging into the stool I'm perched on. The bonds strain against my wrists as gravity pulls my hands downward. They remain suspended in front of my sternum, hanging from a roughly spun rope tied to the single window.

I wriggle my fingers, wincing as the rope bites harshly into my already raw skin. I don't know how long I've been here, tied to a wall, in this tiny, stifling office room, waiting, waiting for--what? Actually, I don't know. I don't know who the hell is here with me in this old building, who nabbed me, bound my wrists and tossed me into this makeshift cell. I don't know if they want information, or money, or my life or what. All I know is that they're not happy with my presence. 

My mind drifts back to last night, when I turned on my computer to find that the connection was suddenly working again, after two months of being broken. To find that single e-mail from Trowa waiting for me had cheered me up beyond scientific measure. To have communication again after months of not hearing from any of my friends and nearly a year without seeing them. It made even the grey metallic atmosphere of the colony seem bright.

The contents of the message had stifled that happiness a little. Trowa had as good as said nothing, it was just a bunch of pointless rambling--which, had it been vocal, would have been way out of character for him. All I got out of it was that he and Heero, the only two of our group still involved in the military, were coming to this colony to investigate a possible rebellion.

Heero. He was one of the reasons I had quit the military in the first place--I couldn't be around him anymore. Not that I disliked him--God, no, I could never hate Heero. What drove me away was the single fact that when I was around Heero, I became a liability. I can think of at least two occasions where I very nearly got us all killed when I panicked and went after him, fearing him injured or worse, only to find him alive, kicking, and mad enough at me to spit fire.

Now he was coming here. On a mission. The knowledge nearly killed me, and to clear my head, I had left my apartment and sought refuge away from the memories. My travels eventually brought me here, to this old blackened, charred skeleton of a building, once a bright shopping centre, until it went bankrupt and then caught fire. I had thought it was empty. I had been wrong.

I squirm on the stool, uncomfortable, but glad of its presence. It had been nearly two hours of standing before I had managed to snag one leg of the thing with my toe and drag it over to me. But while it beat standing up, it sure got tedious after an entire night.

My vision clouds over black, exhausted, dehydrated and overheated, and I wish that I'd worn something other than the heavy black shirt. I lean my forehead against the wall, my thoughts turning against my will to Heero. In my mind's eye, I can see him, messy dark hair, endless sapphire eyes, face a stony emotionless mask. I used to stare at him, when I thought he wasn't paying attention, and try to see past his face, past the hard eyes and set mouth. To see what went on inside the head of the Perfect Soldier. Not for the first time, I muse that maybe I would only find metal and wires, that maybe Heero is nothing more than an artfully created robot.

Sometimes, in my dreams, he smiles. Tiny, tiny smiles than nevertheless take twenty years off him and make him look nineteen again. Sometimes, in my dreams, he drops the mask.

In my head, I hear voices. _Duo no baka! Omae o korosu! Do you want to kill us all?_ A gun being cocked, a clink as he points it at me… How many times has he threatened to kill me? In my delirious state, I laugh silently, as good as counting on my fingers, but running out all too soon. I laugh out loud, this time, rolling my head against the wall to focus dizzily on the door.

I blink. I must be worse than I thought. In my hallucination, Heero has opened the door and stepped inside, is walking towards me, face unreadable. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, willing myself to focus.

"Duo?!" He's there when I look again, but closer. I start, nearly falling off the stool, and his hand is there on my shoulder, holding me on. Speechless, I gape at him like an idiot, unable to do anything but stare into those crystal midnight eyes.

"Duo?" He shakes me gently. "Daijoubu?"

I try to reply, but it takes two tries before my voice works. "What the hell are _you _doing here?"

Not very eloquent, maybe, but straightforward.

Satisfied that I'm not dead, he scowls, and barks, "Could ask you the same thing. Get up, let's get out of here." He takes out a small knife and hacks away at the ropes on my wrists, and I pull myself free, wincing at the sight of my raw skin. I stand unsteadily, flexing my hands to bring blood back into them. I almost expect another gun to my head--it wouldn't be the first time he's done it.

But Heero's checking the door, looking for anyone who might be looking for him. He nods once, then sends me a pointed glare that obviously means I should follow him. We creep silently into the small hallway, Heero somehow managing to walk in a straight line without once looking directly forward--he's sweeping his eyes over and over around the small corridor, ever expecting attack. A mockery, I shuffle dazedly along behind him, my head spinning from going from still to locomotive with no time for transition. To quell the dizziness, I focus on the only thing that remains steady--in this case, Heero's t-shirt clad back.

He stops before the door at the end of the hall, and holds up an arm for me to do the same. I step up beside him as he peers out the tiny, broken window, its glass smashed long ago. I wait for him to nod at me, then working from years of practice, I undo the latch and ease the door open without making a sound.

I blink like an owl in the light, taking in the rest of the building with a kind of detached fascination. We're about two floors up on an oval path around the edge of the mall, the centre of the building opening up over what used to be a mini-golf course far below us. Most of the glass around the edge is broken, and that which isn't is cracked and blackened, clinging to the brass handrail. Frozen escalators, one on each side, link the floors. Around the edge, behind us, the stalls where the stores used to be are empty behind the cage, the soot coated shelves and racks holding the charred remains of their wares.

Artificial noon light illuminates the place right down the middle, through the dilapidated skylight a good four or five stories over our heads. Dust and soot, glowing in the huge beam, float slowly downward.

"Duo."

He's moving away from me, towards the motionless escalators. I hold up a hand to stop him, frowning. Something on he other side of the building is moving. I squint, shading my eyes with my hand, straining to see. Heero's frozen, waiting for me to speak.

Movement again. I force my eyes to focus.

There is a _BANG _that echoes through the entire building. The hand by my eyes flies down towards the gun I don't have. It never makes the journey--around shoulder height, its trek is cut short as a bullet passes clean through it, and _pings _off the wall behind me.

There is a moment of stillness. Even the dust seems frozen.

Then I'm doubling over in pain, biting back a string of obscene words, and Heero is fumbling for his gun, shooting blindly at the opponent he can't see, wasting his bullets. I gasp for air on my knees, clutching my wrecked hand with the other, trying to squeeze it and stop the bleeding without further crushing the already broken bones. Heero shoots again, and is rewarded by a shout of pain from across the drop. Momentarily satisfied, he darts around to crouch in front of me.

"You OK?" he demands, almost sounding concerned. Almost.

"Hai," I rasp, raising my head again to search for the gunman. I catch him--damn!--coming towards us around the corner, weapon raised. I shoot up to standing, and he follows me. "Heero!"

He spins around, and swears, aiming. They both shoot at the same time, and my ears ring at the sharp sound.

Its like someone slows down time. I see the bullets slow in the air, both headed directly at their target. The message is simple--I dance around Heero, even as time rights itself, grab him by the shoulders and throw him to the ground.

There is no pause this time. Just Heero sprawled unceremoniously on the cold, blackened tiles, and me draped on top of him. The bullet meant for him had missed--because my shoulder got in the way. It throbs there now, lodged in the left side of my trapezius, until my consciousness is narrowed right down to that little point of muscle and metal. My hands are still gripping Heero's upper arms, the injured one smearing blood over his bicep. I draw and releasing shuddering, ragged breaths into his collar, swooning from the pain.

Heero blinks, then shoves me off him and stumbles to his feet. I stay on the ground, my hand and shoulder screaming as they protest the sudden movement. I draw my bottom lip between my teeth, biting down hard until I taste still more blood. The combination of the pain and the stinging tears blurs my vision, and the cracked remains of the mirrored ceiling run together. Heero raises his gun and aims it down the hallway. He pulls the trigger, but nothing happens. A curse falls from his lips.

"Don't," I choke out. "You got him--" I shift, and my hand catches fire. "You got him before."

He shoves the gun back into its holster and then hauls me upright by my forearms. I supress a scream as my left arm pulls forward in its socket, straining against the punctured muscle. Heero keeps the grip on my wrists, and yanks me into a recess, sliding down the wall to squat in the corner. I sit across from him, gingerly leaning back into the wall, hissing as my shoulder makes contact.

"We can talk now."

My head snaps up, an action I regret instantly. "Huh?"

Heero digs into his pocket for a new cartridge of bullets. "Like, what the _hell _are you doing in a known rebel hideout, in the middle of the night, with no weapons on you?" He jams the cartridge violently into the gun, his voice climbing in volume as he gets more upset. "How stupid can you get, Maxwell? I know you quit the army, but did you leave all your sense behind with your uniform?"

"How was I supposed to know it was a goddamned hideout?" I shoot back, pain thickening my voice and shortening my temper. "It's not like there's a big sign out front! I haven't gotten any e-mails since December!" The years away from the military have weakened my immunity to pain, and the fading endorphins only make everything that much sharper.

Heero heaves a sigh, setting the gun down beside his foot. "Let me see your hand."

Reluctantly, I extend my arm, my empty stomach turning over as I get my first good look at my hand. There is a neat hole in my palm, but the back of it is gone, a mess of lacerated flesh, blood and bone splinters. The whole thing bleeds sluggishly, pulsing with every beat of my heart.

To his credit, he has the humanity to look slightly green as he takes in my hand. "Jesus Christ." Before I can say a word, he's reached under his t-shirt and pulled the thing over his head. I bite my lip, staring at the ground as he brings the hem of it to his teeth and tears off a long strip of cotton. A strangled cry falls from my lips as he winds the fabric around my hand, maybe a bit tighter than necessary, tearing another strip and wrapping that as well. The rest of the shirt he uses to wipe away the blood that has trickled down my forearm, shoving the dampened sleeve of my shirt back to mop at the inside of my elbow.

"That should slow the bleeding a little, for now," he tells me, his voice once more calm and emotionless. "You'll be fine."

He doesn't know about my shoulder, I realize. A spark of annoyance lights in the back of my head. Perfect Soldier my ass. His observation skills are down. I'm about to open my mouth--though what I'm trying to say escapes me--when I see movement down the hallway.

"Heero." I indicate our pursuers with a jerk of my head, and he twists around to look before curling back into our shelter and grabbing his gun.

"We want to go up," he tells me shortly, checking his weapon over. "Barton has a chopper on the roof. Just get as high as you can and we'll wing it from there." He climbs to his feet, and I follow, my head reeling as I get up way too fast for its liking. My shoulder bounces repeatedly against the wall as I rise, each time blackening my vision more.

"But--" 

"Just do it, Duo." He turns his back to me, focusing all his attention on the people walking quickly towards us--two men and a woman.

"Heero--"

Exasperated, he whirls around to face me. "Do you have a gun? If you did, could you shoot it with that hand?" The bandages are already soaking through.

But three to one? No way I'm leaving him like this. "No, but--"

"Then _RUN_!"

So I do. I break away from him and run as fast as I can towards the frozen escalators, stumbling now and then, arms swinging, and blood pumping out of me with every stride I take. My head spins, scrambling my vision.

I nearly go flying as I collide with the bottom step of the first escalator, and I scramble forward, taking the stairs two at a time, my left hand half-steadying me on the banister, my right held against my chest. Up, up, my brain blurs and clears over and over again.

I sprint down the path, the empty stores fly past me, I dance around the remains of benches, metal skeletons of signs, half-melted tree planters. Another escalator behind me, another hallway, another escalator, another hall…

The third escalator has fallen away behind my feet. I stare up, realizing I have nowhere left to go, there is nothing between me and the skylight but air. _Go to the light, go to the light_. Dazed, I giggle. Even as I run, I can feel my senses draining away with my blood. And I don't see the fallen planter that blocks my path.

__

Wham!

For a moment, I just lie there, stunned, face down on the floor, ignoring the fact that I landed on my hands and jarred my shoulder. I just stare at the cracked tile in front of my nose, frozen.

My eyes fill with black as I realize the pain pounding through my body. I close them and press my forehead to the ground, but my stomach has other ideas. With a groan, I curl into a kneeling ball, using my arms as little as possible, and shuffle on my knees to the edge that hangs over the drop. The glass in front of me is webbed with cracks, and it falls to pieces as I reach out and push it away. I hang my head out, ignoring the height, and vomit.

I haven't eaten much, but what still remains quickly exits my body, and I am left heaving dryly as my stomach works to dispel that which has already left it. Finally, I calm, pushing myself back away from the edge, and breathe hard. I draw my knees to my chest, shivering as I feel a rivulet of blood trickle down my back to soak the hem of my shirt. My head is spinning, growing faint as my awareness seeps out of my back and hand. I focus all my energy on staying conscious, even as I hear footsteps coming towards me, gunshots ringing, and Heero's voice shouting something in Japanese, words I might have understood if I were a little more alert.

I don't move, but I see his runners in front of me, and his face as he drops down to look me in the eye. "Duo, come on." He shakes me gently by the shoulder, which is exactly the _wrong _thing to do. I nearly pass out. Looking up, he signals someone above us with a wave of his hand. I hear a crash, and a tinkle of glass a moment later.

Heero stands and moves away from me towards the edge. I hear him swearing as he tries to reach whatever just smashed through the skylight. I fight a wave of blackness, but then he's back beside me, grabbing my arm and hauling me up with one hand, gripping a thick rope in the other. I slump against him, dizzied and faint, and he catches me around the waist as I strain to regain my balance.

"You can't climb with that hand," he mutters, more to himself than to me, frowning as his mind works. He looks at me, right arm braced against his shoulder, left bent at the shoulder and clutching at his elbow. I'm afraid to move. If I weren't so far gone, I would have been blushing like a tomato now, jumping backwards as I realize I have just glomped a half-naked Heero and as good as buried my face in his bare shoulder. But now, as he steps backwards and looks up to where Trowa's catlike form is peering down on us from the broken skylight, a good twenty feet up, holding the other end of the rope and bracing himself for our weight--now, I can only latch onto his neck and hang on for dear life as my knees buckle under me.

I feel him sigh, and then tense as an idea comes to him. He reaches behind his head, grabbing my left hand and wrapping it around my right wrist, ignoring my gasps of pain as my left arm pulls in its socket. "Keep you arms around my neck," he orders me firmly. "Hold on as tight as you possibly can, all right?"

I nod dumbly into his neck, already hanging off him. He wraps an arm around my waist, hitches me upward, and I get my grip again, tightening my arms. Satisfied, he pulls me to the edge, breaks the brass handrail with a single kick, then lets go of me to put both hands on the rope. A moment, a preparatory breath. Then he pushes away from the floor, and we're hanging in the air.

We must be quite the image, me clinging to Heero's neck, my legs dangling useless below me, eyes staring at nothing. Heero focused intently on the hole above us, face set with determination as, hand over hand, he hauls us both towards the light. Sweat runs down his naked torso as he works. We are directly under the beam of artificial sun, the only things lit in the dark building.

I'm beyond that, though. My entire consciousness is focused on the hand gripping my wrist, not daring to let go even to fix my grip. I don't feel the bullet holes anymore. I don't feel my cramping shoulder muscles. I don't feel the blood seeping through the bandage on my hand and falling in scarlet droplets off my little finger, sometimes hitting Heero's back, sometimes falling past him. Or the blood running in tiny rivers down my back, where it isn't intercepted by the thick fabric of my shirt, soaking it in red.

I only feel the tightly clenched hand. And now, I can barely even feel that.

Higher. He's breathing hard now, really working. Higher. But he never slows, never looks down.

Higher. The rope jerks as Trowa ties off his end to something on the roof. Higher. I'm very glad I can no longer see, as I would be puking all over Heero if I could make out the ground. Higher. Oh, God, I'm gonna faint in a minute. Higher…

A bump. Hands under my armpits, pulling me up. "Let go, Duo." I comply, letting, letting my hands fall to land on the cement beside me. I'm dragged backwards, and gently laid on my back. Above me stretches an expanse of grey metal. I blink, then gasp as my shoulder touches down.

"He's not fully conscious."

"How? Did he hit his head on something?"

Who's talking? Why won't they shut up? God, I just want to roll over and sleep. Sleep? But it's noon… Besides, rolling over would hurt…

"I watched him on his way up. He never hit his head. Tripped, once, threw up a bit." Someone holds open one of my eyelids, then feels around my throat. "His pulse is weak. Blood loss."

"What, from his hand?" Heero. That's Heero's voice. My God, he almost sounds worried. Someone picks up my wrapped hand, and I groan as pain shoots up my arm. "But I bandaged it."

"A lot more likely from this."

An arm slides under my back and lifts me partly off the ground. My chin drops to my chest. Gentle fingers against my shoulder. Trowa… was the one who pulled me up, he must have blood all over his hands…

"Oh, sweet Jesus…"

Trowa supports me, half sitting up, and I register dumbly on Heero's quick fingers moving down the front of my shirt, undoing the buttons, pushing it off my shoulder and down my back to expose the wound. He's kneeling over me, now, straddling me, deft hands searching the area around my collarbone.

"There's no exit wound. The bullet's still in there."

He prods the muscle, and I feel the bullet move inside my flesh against his fingers. I draw a strangled breath, curling in on myself as I'm laid back down. Heero straightens on his knees, and I hear metal scraping leather.

Steel against my skin. He slices a gash in the area opposite the wound. I let out what might have been a scream as the blade scrapes over the bullet. I can feel sweat running off my forehead, blood trickling off my shoulder.

He's so close to me. I can feel his breath on my skin. My head spins, my eyes cloud over. For a moment, I feel nothing.

When I'm back again, Heero's mouth is on my neck, sucking. I lurch, torn between bewildered shock and mindless pain, as I realize he's sucking on the gash he's just cut. Then he's gone, spitting on the ground beside me. Sucking again, then spitting, sucking, and I writhe under him, retching, ready to faint again, only still because Trowa's holding me down.

A jerk, and I really do scream. In my blurred vision, I see Heero supporting himself over me with one hand, while the other reaches up and takes the bullet off his tongue, setting it beside my head, and wiping the blood off his mouth. He pushes sweat-soaked bangs off my forehead… "Duo--can you hear me?"

God, he really _is _concerned…

I open my eyes again. Heero's right above me, hand resting on my hair, eyes focused intently on mine. Nothing else matters--Heero's here, it'll be OK… I smile dazedly, ignoring my throbbing limbs, channelling all my being towards the boy above me. On his dark hair falling into darker eyes, eyes filled with anxiety, fear… and now relief---

Before I even realize it, he's dropped down and pressed his lips to mine, the hand on my hair sliding around to rest behind my ear. I sink into his hand, too stunned to do anything else. Behind me, I vaguely hear Trowa gasp, and move away when he realizes I'm not fighting. 

He pulls away before I can get it together enough to respond. When I look at him, he's still close to me, but looks ready to run. His breathing is short, and he reminds me of a trapped wild animal, hand over his mouth like he can't believe I haven't killed him yet.

I shift under him, ignoring my shoulder, letting go a slow breath. My right hand drifts towards him, and blood runs down my forearm and pools in my elbow. Slowly, dazedly, I pull his hand away from his mouth and give it a tug, coming off the ground slightly. "Hee--Heero…" My voice is so quiet even I can barely hear it.

He doesn't have to be asked twice. For a split second, I find myself staring into his deep blue eyes, barely two inches from mine--and then I don't see anything, and Heero is kissing me.

__

Oh, God.

I shudder beneath him as his hand finds its way back to my face. His tongue brushes my bottom lip, and I open my mouth, gasping as he lets his body sink onto mine. My head is spinning, not from my injuries, and I bring my left hand up to touch the side of his ribcage, my fingertips barely brushing his skin. He finds my tongue, spars with it, and I can taste my own blood.

I don't care. I don't care that I'm still bleeding, either, or that Trowa is maybe three feet away from us. All that matters is Heero's mouth, the taste of him, his hands sliding down my body as he sits up on his heels and gathers me against his chest, breaking away momentarily to draw a breath, before pulling me back to him.

I kiss him back with all I have--small, but enough for now. I cling to him, drunk on the taste of his mouth, my bloodied hand painting red smears over his face and neck as I drag it lower to his naked chest. He tenses, and I can feel his breath hitch as I touch him. I snake my arm around his waist, pulling him closer to me, needing to feel him.

I won't last long like this, I can feel myself slipping. But still, I kiss him, and he responds roughly, his tongue dancing in my mouth. My mind clouds over, my body goes limp in his arms--but only one thought plays over and over in my head. _Don't stop. Don't stop…_

It seems like an eternity before he finally lets me go, and too soon even then. I fight to stay conscious, gasping for breath, opening my eyes as he presses his forehead against mine, holding me tight. I'm drowning in his eyes, lost in the colour, my world narrowed down to those two points of blue.

The air stirs and churns around us as the blades of the chopper begin to spin. I hear Trowa's voice shouting at us before the noise overcomes him.

"Duo." He can tell I'm slipping. "Don't die on me, Duo."

I try to tell him, I won't, I'm fine, just dizzy. But my voice doesn't work. Instead, I smile, hoping my eyes say it as clearly.

Black floods my vision. And I let it take me.

__

Now that the world isn't ending

It's low that I'm sending

To you

It isn't the love of a hero

And that's why I fear

It won't do

***


	2. This Crazy Game

__

Smell your skin

Feel your breath

You on my side

I couldn't resist

I hope I'll understand someday

What's the meaning of this crazy game

It is real

And pure

T.N.T for the brain

****

Part II

A shower was mandatory. There was no question. I spent all day in the waiting room of the local hospital, head in my hands, shirtless and covered in somebody else's blood. It was work getting him there and it was work getting back to our hotel room. There was no way around it. I was filthy.

I didn't want to. I've always hated it, the sensation of washing away all the shields and barriers carefully put in place, and the sight that greets me in the mirror when I step out from the water--naked, vulnerable. But clean is clean, and I had no intention of stinking. Trowa went first, then Duo, and now it's my turn to stand under the spray.

There is no shampoo left, for rather obvious reasons--soap works just as well, for my purposes. With the spray at my back, I stare down at my chest, where Duo's blood has dried red as fresh welts across my skin, proof of where his touch burned me. I don't want to wash it off. I don't want to ever forget it. But a drop of water trickles over my shoulder, marring the abstract design, and I sigh, taking up the soap and washing the rest of it away.

I clean myself quickly, ignoring the fogged mirror as I reach for one of the folded towels and rub it over my body. With the shower off, I can hear the voices of my companions, muffled through the door, one calm, one frustrated. I pull on the same jeans, and a clean shirt finds its way over my head, sticking to my back where I haven't dried it properly. I throw back a glass of cold water, run a hand through my hair, and step out into the rest of the room.

I run into Trowa before I can take three steps. He's pulling on a jacket, and regards me with cool green eyes. "You might want to give him some of help," he tells me, pointing down the miniscule hallway towards the small bedroom. "He's having trouble with his hair."

Vaguely, I hear Duo curse.

Trowa's lips quirk in a tiny smile as he steps past me and opens the door. "I got called to the base for a full report and new briefing, so I won't be back until late. Keep an eye on Duo." I nod, and he walks into the hall and closes the door behind him with a click.

Duo looks up the moment I walk into his line of vision. I acknowledge him with a nod, and he looks over me with half-scepticism, half-amusement. When I say nothing, he smirks, and turns away from me to return his attention to the mirror.

I watch him from my place in the doorway. He's wearing only a too-big pair of sweatpants, which I recognize as Trowa's, and they lie around his ankles in folds. His hair, now mostly dry, is about half-brushed, and falls like silk over his back. My eyes sweep down his wiry arms, his pale, slender torso, flinching as I notice the wound on the left shoulder, unbandaged but roughly stitched. He fumbles with the hairbrush in his good hand, the other lifting a handful of it off his back.

I heave a defeated sigh, and walk over to stand behind him, taking the brush from his hands and attacking the strands myself. Duo frowns thoughtfully at me in the mirror as I work, a weird, analytical look that I'm not used to seeing on his face.

"You ok, Heero?" he asks finally.

I nod, and continue brushing. He winces as I pull at a particularly stubborn knot, and I ease my ministrations slightly. Relaxing, he leans forward onto his hands on the dresser, forcing me to step closer to reach his hair.

"You're awful quiet." 

I would have thought that was a given. "Aren't I always?"

He grins at me then, an expression so achingly familiar that my breath actually catches in my throat and I'm forced to look away. "Look, Duo--" Words have never been my forte. "I… I'm sorry I never noticed your shoulder. It… must have hurt."

He half shrugs. "No big deal. Better my shoulder than your lungs, ne?"

I bite my lip, not bothering to try and formulate an answer. "What did they do to you, anyway? I would have thought you'd be in the hospital for days."

"Just stitched up the shoulder, far as I know. I was still out then." He pushes a lock of hair over his shoulder to display a wound alongside his neck, twin to the one glaring so harshly at me.

I pull the brush down the fall of hair, mesmerized by the easy slide of it through the strands. "And your hand?"

He stands straight again, bumping into me, and holds up the wrapped appendage. "Well, the bone was finished," he tells me, "and they grafted skin for the back of it, though I'm not sure from where. The bone they replaced with surgical steel, I think." He flexes his fingers experimentally. "So I should set off every metal detector I ever go through from now on."

"Really?"

"No, not really." He blinks, and I mentally kick myself for the overall stupid-effect his presence is having on me. "I don't know. Maybe. I was just kidding."

I yank on a knot, and he swears. "I _know_." The words sound hard in my mouth. He freezes as I gently touch the stitches in his shoulder. "Do they hurt?"

A pause, before he falls back into his specified role. "Prob'ly should," he admits. "But then, there's enough morphine in my blood to knock out a small horse, so I wouldn't be surprised if I'm just too high to notice."

"Hn." I look at his eyes in the mirror, and sure enough, the pupils are dilated so that only the purple-blue rings around his irises are still visible. I'm surprised he's still standing, though I shouldn't be. It would take a lot more than that to slow Duo down for any length of time. He flashes his stupid grin and hands me a hair elastic.

I braid his hair tightly, working slowly down the golden-brown length of it, not letting a single strand escape my fingers. The wound on his shoulder is no small distraction, it keeps grabbing my attention, my hands faltering as my stomach turns over at the gruesome mess of dried blood and black thread. More than once, I have to go back over parts of his braid which were tangled by my quaking hands.

"That was meant for me," I finally whisper, my eyes locked on his broken flesh

Duo's happy-go-lucky expression fades to a wry grin. "It was meant for whoever got in its way first, whether that was me, you, or the President. That guy wasn't shooting at anything in particular." His face hardens further as he balls his hands into fists at his sides, any hint of the joker gone. "Damn it all to hell! It was meant to _kill_! That idiot didn't know who we were--we could have been his own men!--and he would have killed you! Or me!" He slumps slightly, rubbing his forehead with his good hand. "I'm so sick of war. So goddamned _sick_ of it! Jesus, I thought I was done with fighting when I came here. But it follows me…"

He trails off weakly, staring helplessly at me through the mirror. Somehow, the internal warring emotions in me render my face that much more stoic, freezing my body as I argue with myself over the responses I could give. I expect him to look away first, but he holds my eyes with his until I'm the one trying to avoid his gaze. Instead, I focus on finishing his braid.

"Why do you still do it, Heero?" he finally asks, voice reduced to an almost childlike whisper. "Why do you still fight? And carry that _stupid_ gun around with you? _Why?_"

I meet his eyes, sad, purple things through the glass. His expression shifts slightly, just enough to change the subject, and he asks again.

"Why?"

__

Because it follows me, too. Because I was made a soldier, and no matter where I go, war will find me. Because I can't just sit there and watch the world fall apart. Because if I don't, I'll have to deal with other things. Like you.

What do you want from me?

I finally give the safest answer I can come up with.

"There's a lot of things, these days--" I tie off the end of his braid deftly. "--That I do, without knowing why."

His head snaps up and I take a step away from him, dropping his hair. Another step, until my legs collide with the edge of one of the beds. Duo's eyes narrow at me in the mirror. That answer will not be good enough.

I fall into a sitting position on the bed with a sigh, even as Duo turns to face me. He wants me to tell him everything. I _want _to tell him everything. But how can I?

Slowly, I raise my head and look at him. _Really_ look at him, like I've wanted to do since we got back from the hospital. Moving from the top of his head down, I drag my eyes over his almost-dry hair, braided tightly and gleaming rich brown in the light of the lamp. It's a bit longer than I remember, almost to his knees, but his messy bangs haven't changed. The eyes hidden behind them are the same indigo-purple, albeit dark from the painkillers, a look that renders him looking weirdly young and open, for all he's been through. His nose is the same, small and upturned like a dolls, and the soft lips beneath, lips meant for pouting or kissing, are set in a determined, challenging line.

I draw my gaze lower, eyeing the slender but strong column of his neck, lingering in the hollow of his throat. Farther still, over pale, hard shoulders and ivory-skinned chest, marred only by the ugly gash beside his neck. He looks so _young_, even at nineteen--the years of malnutrition as a child have taken their toll, and he has changed little, physically, since I first met him.

A willowy, almost feminine torso, countered by subtly defined muscle. I can see them move beneath his skin as he steps towards me, and stand out when he stops, tense. The sweats, those damnable, too-big sweats, hang dangerously loose on his narrow hips, low enough that I know, without a shadow of doubt, that's he's not wearing anything underneath.

Unconsciously, my hand tightens around a fistful of bedclothes.

So this is what I've become, a battlefield for the emotions warring for control of my body. The soldier in me, the role drilled into my very being since childhood, disciplined, hard and cold, is slowly losing. Losing to the more human side of me, the side that wants to reach out and touch Duo's hair, to press my face against it, to take him in my arms and kiss him again, to rediscover the taste I found not a day ago, and lost so soon.

And even as that side wins, it is losing to the boy in front of me.

__

I want to tell you everything. But how can I?

How can I tell him of the terrible happy shock that tore through me when I first found him sitting on the stool in the tiny office? It surprised me then and it surprises me now, to think of it. I had never in a million years thought I would run into him there, had hoped not to at all, for fear of what my reaction would be. But I could not help the jolt of sweet longing that burned at my soul to see him there.

How can I tell him of the fierce protectiveness that gripped me when I realized the toll his imprisonment had taken on him? That protectiveness drove me nearly all day--it had aimed my gun and pulled the trigger in the dark, it put strength in my arms to lift us both out of the charred building--and it had smouldered in the back of my head through to the evening, waiting in the hospital. A desperate wish to push past the door marked "authorized personnel only" and see to patching him up myself, if only so I could be sure that the job had been done right.

How can I explain the staggering rush of relief that took me when at last he stumbled out of those doors, stunned, but alive and no longer bleeding? It had buckled my knees even as I shot to my feet, threatening to render me as helpless as he had been when we first carried him into the crowded emergency room.

And how can I possibly put into words the desperate, insane hunger that has flowed in my blood, increasing with each beat of my heart, since his half-conscious eyes opened to mine, and he smiled under me, on his back on the roof? A smile of such trust, such surrender--which I have no doubt he would have held back if he had been thinking--it had sent a bolt of raw emotion through me, and it was that which made me drop down and press my lips to his.

And now Duo stands but one or two feet away from me, half-naked, and so tantalizingly determined to know my mind. That hunger rules my every thought, now, reminding me constantly--of his presence, of the fact that Trowa won't be back for hours and I'd been left alone with him, of the aura of thermal energy around his body, warming my own. I want so desperately to touch him, to feel him, to know him…

How can I tell him, when I don't understand it myself?

He takes a step closer to me, and I scoot backwards along the covers, avoiding him. "Duo, I--" _Why can't he speak Japanese, this would be so much easier in Japanese…_

He frowns and holds my gaze, moving closer still, until I'm afraid to breathe. At this range, I can smell his own breath, sweet like a baby's, the result of his completely empty stomach. I crane my neck to look at him standing over me, and watch the expressions play over his face. Confused, frustrated, calculating. Working on a strange whim, I reach out and brush my fingers down his braid, which hangs over his shoulder. A smile touches his lips.

__

How can I? How can I? My voice is broken and rough. "I… I want--" 

He kisses me.

For all that has passed between us, it is gentle, tender almost. From Duo, anyway--he holds my face between his palms, lips soft over mine, barely touching. I am having a slightly harder time, my hands full of bedclothes, shaking with suppressed desire. I will myself to relax, to enjoy the kiss, but he's so close to me…

My control snaps when he parts his lips. I let go of the sheets with one hand to clasp the back of his neck, and force his mouth open. He moves closer, letting his own fingers stray into my hair, while I slide my hand heavily down his back to meet my other at the base of his spine. Without food or blood on my tongue, I am struck with the unhindered taste of the boy in my arms, and it is enough to make my head spin.

Duo pulls away from me, gasping in a breath, but he seals his mouth over mine again before I have time to protest. I tighten my arms around his body, pulling his chest against me. He searches my mouth with his tongue, and somehow manages to wring a low sound out of me, finding it in the back of my throat and drawing it out from between my lips. It surprises me far more than it does him, forcing me to realize the situation--and acknowledge the fact that if I don't push him away now, I never will.

His hands tighten on my hair as I try to pull back. It's hard--very hard, especially with his encouragement. For a moment, I let myself drown in him, let all though flee my mind as he runs his fingers over the nape of my neck, sending tiny shocks of desire through me. But if I'm distracted, there is at least one part of my body that is paying _very _close attention.

I wrench away from his mouth with some difficulty, but only far enough to bury my face in his shoulder and try to catch my breath. Duo presses his nose to my hair, toying with the ends of it. He isn't helping, but I can't bring myself to push him back. Instead, I cling to him, as though he, the source of my problems, is also my anchor.

He whispers my name, quiet and pleading.

__

Oh Jesus. The sound of his voice goes straight from my ear to my groin, and I bite my lip hard, my hands tightening reflexively on his skin. "Duo," I manage, rasping into his neck. If I can't tell him everything, I can at least be honest about this. "I want you."

He is silent for a long moment, considering the consequences of his answer. I feel awful, deadly afraid he will reject me even now, hit me, yell at me… But he kisses my forehead softly, pushes my bangs out of my face. His eyes were dark before, but lust has made them black--what breath I have regained catches in my throat. "I know."

If he has any thoughts about going slow, he must give them up in about three seconds, because I pull him back to me and kiss him with such hunger it even scares me. He buries his fingers in my hair and moans quietly against my lips. The admission is enough for me, and I grasp his waiste and pull him roughly to me.

Somehow understanding my unspoken demand, Duo climbs into my lap, bracing one knee on either side of my hips, effectively bringing the entire length of his torso flush with mine. It's a weird feeling, as though even as I get the contact I crave, that contact only makes the fire burn brighter in my head, only makes my hunger that much more so. I hold him tightly and kiss him entirely without artistry, without anything but terrible, painful desire.

He runs his fingers down my neck and slowly under the back of my collar. I gasp against his mouth, and break away from him to press my lips to his cheek, the underside of his jaw, the side of his neck. Duo's breath stirs my hair as he fights to retain it, and I slowly run my tongue over the tendon under his ear, tasting the strong line from hairline to collarbone. I haven't a clue what I'm doing--indeed, I'm working entirely on instinct, any coherent thought having vanished long ago--but I seem to be doing it well. He lets out a strangled sound as I fasten my mouth to the hollow at the base of his throat, his fingernails biting the skin under my shirt.

Duo's chest heaves just below my mouth, and the movement catches my attention. I move down, slouching a little to reach the skin under his collarbone. He arches against me, lips moving in a soundless litany, hands tightening on my neck to hold me in place. I explore the ivory flesh by scent and taste, and my hands slide around his waist to run lightly over his ribcage.

It's crazy. Beyond crazy. Never in my life have I felt so wholly focused on one thing, so completely directed to a task. It's as if I'll die if I lose the sound of Duo's short breaths, the feeling of his hands on my back, his skin under my lips and fingers. I suppose it should upset me, but my mind refuses to waste time contemplating anything other than its current occupation. I nip at his flesh, relishing the sharp breath he draws, and the moan as I smooth the sting with the tip of my tongue.

His hands dance down my back and find their way under the hem of my shirt. The touch electrifies me, enough that I have to stop what I'm doing for a moment. Duo seizes the chance, grasps the bottom of the garment, and smoothly pulls it over my head. As he tosses the shirt away, I pull him to me, and nearly die at the touch of his bare skin to mine.

Bending his head downwards, Duo kisses me roughly, raking his nails over my shoulders and down the front of my body. It forces a low moan out of me, and my hands tighten their grip on his upper arms. He shifts forward on his knees as his hands work around to the small of my back, bringing our lower bodies together. Satisfied with my instinctual reaction--being to hold him there firmly--he smiles against my lips, and begins to gently rock in my lap.

It's a good thing I'm already sitting down, because that would have made me fall over--as it is, I freeze for a long moment before copying his rocking, growling as I become aware of the state of his body, proof of his lust mirroring mine. His hands grapple on my back as he moves against me, delicious friction that sends jolt after jolt of half-pleasure, half-pain shooting through my body.

Duo groans into the kiss when I yank him closer. Seemingly affecting himself as much as me with his motions, he breaks away from my mouth and rocks harder, breathing harshly in my ear. With his lips out of reach, I kiss his neck instead, his ear, his jaw line, his collarbone… and one of my hands creeps under the waistband of his sweats.

He has me on my back before I can take another breath. Startled, my eyes snap open as he crawls up my body, managing to process a single picture of his face before he lays insistent claim to my mouth. I return his efforts with equal fervour, holding the back of his head with one hand and his body with the other, my hips lifting off the bed in a desperate plea for contact. He grins as he pulls away, sensing my need--and ignoring it. Instead, he shifts downward, laying a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down my body.

If my explorations were instinct, for my own pleasure as much as his, Duo's are quite the opposite. They are purposeful, deliberate actions, designed to illicit a specific response. Which they do. Oh, they do. Let no one mistake me for silent, he wrings a symphony of sounds out of me: gasps, moans, pleas--me, pleading!--until I'm sure my heart will stop from wanting him. From needing him.

He stops very suddenly, and it takes me several moments to come out of the spell he's cast on me. I open my eyes, willing my breathing to slow, and focus dazedly on Duo. He's staring up at me from around my navel, eyes dark and fiery. I prop myself up on one elbow, letting my free hand dance over his face, and whisper him name. His fingers flex against my skin, digging into my lower abdomen and slowly trailing southward until they rest on the button of my jeans. It's a question. An entreaty. And that needs an answer.

"Please." If the words can't say it well enough, the rough, broken timbre of my voice should give me away. "Please. Don't stop."

Slowly, very slowly, Duo's fingers undo the button and slide the zipper down. He watches me the whole time, for any sign he should stop or leave altogether. His face is strangely unreadable. I stare back at him unsteadily, my mind reeling in its half-second of sanity. I feel as though I should scream as he slips his hands under the waistband and lowers the heavy fabric over my hips--from needing his touch, or from the weird terror I know is ridiculous but can't help feeling. He lets his fingertips slide over my legs as he pulls the jeans off me… just enough pressure to drive me crazy. And just enough to make me forget completely about the fear.

I fall back to the bed and close my eyes, clenching and unclenching my hands at my sides, shaking with anticipation. I can feel Duo's warm breath on my stomach, his hands brushing over my hips and up my sides as he resumes his task. The jeans lie forgotten on the floor, my boxers tangled in the legs. He presses his palm flat on my sternum, letting it rest there for a long moment, while his other supports him over me. I lick my lips nervously, opening my eyes again. He is staring at me with such intensity it hurts. Very suddenly, I find myself wanting to crawl under the covers and hide my body from his heated inspection. I'm naked under his gaze, and it feels like he can see right through me.

As though he can hear my thoughts, Duo darts up swiftly, draping himself over me and placing a soothing kiss against my mouth. The hand on my chest moves, tracing the centreline of my torso downwards. I freeze under his touch, arching against him, but he ardently refuses to release my lips. His fingers pause again just below my navel, asking. _Please. Don't stop. Please._ I moan softly into the kiss, shifting impatiently, and he pulls away from me, at the same instant sliding his hand the final few inches.

My perception cracks slightly.

There is experience in that touch. Experience and skill, as Duo brings me dangerously close to release before pulling away, only to bring me back again. He kisses me softly, the gentle sensation only driving me crazier as I clutch at his shoulders and press up against his hand. He keeps me on a knife-edge, not letting me fall either way. So distracted am I, writhing and gasping, that I don't even notice when he breaks the kiss and lifts momentarily off me, motions never faltering. For a fraction of a second, he is gone, and a breath rushes out of my lungs. But I don't have time to recover, because the hand is instantly replaced--by his mouth.

Perception shatters.

My hands fall away to the bed, my head against the pillows, my hips rock upwards. I don't even know I'm making noise until Duo clamps his hand over my mouth, effectively hushing my tirade. _Please, please… _The word has become a mantra. So close. So close it hurts. _Oh my God--_

No. I shove him away without giving myself a chance to think about it. This is for Duo as well. I haul him up and kiss him hard, tasting my own passion on his tongue, forerunner to the release. His own arousal is rigid against my hip, a goad to my determination, and I grasp him around the waist and roll on top of him.

His eyes snap open in surprise, and the same analytical look reappears on his face--though now it is mixed with amusement and desire. He grins at me, and pulls me down for a deep kiss, sliding his hands down my sides. I stop him, press his wrists to the bed, and bite his lower lip. He gasps, and pulls back as far as the mattress below him will allow, watching me curiously. I press my lips to his neck, and let my hands travel down his back until they reach his pants. Duo wraps his arms around my shoulders, whispering words I can't quite make out, but get the gist of. Growling against his skin, I grab a fistful of the waistband and rip the things impatiently off his body.

Even in the desperate, starving state I'm in, I have to stop and stare at him. Oh, he is gorgeous, his creamy white skin, flawless and smooth, mocking the garish colours of the comforter he lies on. I touch his stomach, my eyes wide and breath slow and heavy in wonder, levering myself off him with the other arm to run my fingers over the sharp, protruding bone at his hip, down his thigh. Beauty glows in a warm aura around his body. It almost makes me forget my own situation, almost makes me want to just lie there and look at him forever.

Almost.

Duo tightens his arms around my shoulders, sliding one down my back to pull my hips down. The result has us pressed together, bare skin to bare skin, the entire length of our bodies. He catches my sharp groan in his mouth and holds me against him firmly, rocking up. It's almost leisurely, the way he's touching me, and kissing me, but for the growing tension between us, the need. I attack his mouth and touch him everywhere I can reach. Our exchange gradually becomes more heated, frantic, until we're so close that surely our skin is the only thing keeping us from melting completely together. I kiss him hungrily, and entwine our legs together.

It is a heady experience, being with Duo like this, flesh to flesh. To have all that incessant, perpetual energy that defines him all completely focused on _me. _It's unlike anything I could have imagined, anything I have felt before, and ever hope to feel again.

I have no practise in this art, and whether or not I have talent is not for me to say. For that, the concept of preparation escapes me entirely--all I want is him. And Duo, it seems, is beyond caring. In my inexperience, I let him guide me, and he moves both our bodies until I'm exactly where I need to be. I freeze, actually, unsure and unwilling to do anything wrong--but he presses up against me and grips my hips, pulling me forward.

I have to fight very hard not to scream as he pulls me inside him. I'm sure I'll die, or at least faint from the sheer, painfully intense sensations crashing through me. I break away from Duo's mouth with a strangled moan, my eyes screwed shut in concentration. I refuse to do anything until he tells me to. I refuse… But, God, I want to.

The sound of his gasping breaths captures my attention, and I open my eyes to look into his face. He is staring past me unfocusedly, biting his bottom lip, his hands clutching at my shoulders. A single tear trickles out of the corner of his eye and over his temple. No. No! I won't cause Duo pain.

"I've hurt you." I try to withdraw from him, but he holds me there. Gives a tiny shake of his head.

"It's fine," he manages.

"But--"

"Shhh…" His arms and legs wrap around me, and he stops all my other protests with his lips. I let his mouth distract me for the time being, rather than… other parts of him. He remains still for a long moment, allowing me to simply kiss him while he adjusts to me. I strain to hold my body perfectly motionless.

And then he moves.

A jolt of pleasure as raw and heated as a lightning bolt tears through my body. My eyes snap open and I jerk, the movement only setting off another shock. A word--maybe a curse, maybe a plea--pushes itself out of me, and Duo swallows the sound before moving again, tilting his hips slightly, just enough to create friction. His whole body tightens around mine.

He breaks the kiss with a husky moan. "Heero…" The word is punctuated by another rock upwards. "Please--Heero…"

But my brain is so beyond functioning that I just remain frozen, staring at him, completely poleaxed. 

His fingers dig sharply into my back, and he nips at my neck. His voice comes out low and desperate. "Heero, please!"

__

Please…

So I do. I surrender.

Surrender to him, surrender to myself, surrender to the night… From somewhere deep inside me, I find a rhythm, something akin to the beating of my heart, or the booming of ancient drum. I let that rhythm guide me, and it moves me against him, inside him, with him, in a simple, primitive dance as old as time itself. It pounds in my ears and through my body, and pulses in the minimal space between us.

The dance continues for an unknown period of time--a breath, an hour, a day?--I couldn't tell you. But there is something building, in the pit of my stomach, at the base of my spine. Something just beyond my reach. The dance's tempo increases, its music the intake and exhalation of air, the rough echoing friction of colliding bodies, the low and guttural sounds uttered without thought into the night. Something, something wonderful…

I open my eyes, and see Duo. His eyes are half-closed, head thrown back against the pillow, mouth open in pleasure. Quiet, husky sounds colour his every breath. He is the image of beauty. Of perfection. I will never forget that sight.

One final beat. And then the world turns white.

There is no way to describe it, the feeling of such a release. There are no words in any mortal language that do it justice. I could say it was every battle-high, every burst of delighted laughter, every dazzling smile, every loving and heartfelt word, everything that ever felt _good_--and it would not be enough. I could say it was the ultimate fusion of two minds, bodies and souls--and it would not be enough. I could say it was the first step towards heaven, the first understanding of paradise--and it would not be enough. I could try to name it pleasure, bliss, or ecstacy--and it would not be nearly enough.

I _can _say… I can say--it is as though I have lived my whole life handicapped, as though since birth I have nursed a steadily bleeding wound, a severely broken bone, a painful debilitation that refuses to heal. I have grown up with it, never known anything else except it, accepted it and functioned despite it, until I even forget that there is a reality without it.

And in this moment, in Duo's arms, the pain is lifted from me.

That's what it's like.

__

Duo--oh God, Duo…

It should last for ever, this moment. To touch heaven only to have that glimpse torn from me. But end it must, and so I slowly come to, finding myself completely entangled with Duo, exhausted.

So I am left with but a memory of that ecstasy--but here, now, this is almost better… With my face against Duo's hair, his hands moving slowly on my back, our bodies close and still intimately joined. There is a satisfied, quietly happy glow to the air, warming my bare skin which is chilled with sweat. After having shared… _that_… to be so close to him and able to simply lie in his arms is almost better than the passion.

Nothing lasts forever.

I push myself up to look at his face, the action breaking the contact point between us. There are words, words that need saying--but I don't know them, and Duo says nothing. The one time I need him to speak, he merely gazes up at me, purple eyes searching my own, and remains uncharacteristically silent.

The silence is palpable. Thick. It presses like deep water. His name forces out of me in a questioning breath. "Duo--"

He hushes me with a thumb over my mouth. His bad hand, I notice, as the bandages scrape my cheek and his fingers curl into my hair. The gesture scorches with painful reverence, and I part my lips, touching the digit with the tip of my tongue.

He snatches his hand back like it's been burned, sinking away from me into the pillows, and a look of something between anguish and fear flashes across his face. Worried, I push his bangs off his forehead, trying to see his eyes. They soften slightly, then, for me. I let my hand rest there, just on his hairline, as it did this morning, a moment before I kissed him for the first time. It seems like years ago, but at the same time I can still taste his blood. Duo gazes up, and almost smiles. _So beautiful._

He pulls me down to lie beside him and I comply, wrapping my arms around him and holding him close. The warm glow still hangs in the air, but there is another presence around us: A tiny but noticeable thundercloud formed of questions, doubt and tears. Not mine.

Duo's.

I tighten my grip around his shoulders, nearly missing his muffled gasp of pain as the wound on his back pulls. There will always be questions. I know he will ask them. And I will answer them all.

I will tell him everything.

I _will_.

Sleep will be some time in coming.

__

If there's no pain

Rules are still the same

I'm with you, just lead me

I'm ready to play

Don't be scared, and have no fear

I will show you what it means

What you feel is insane

It is love, and not a game

T.N.T. for the brain

***


	3. A Spark of Light, Shining

__

Alegria

I see a spark of light shining

Alegria 

I hear a young minstrel sing

Alegria

Beautiful roaring scream 

Of joy and sorrow, so extreme

****

Part III

The first thing Duo noticed when he woke was that he hurt. Everywhere. Not one single part of him, but his whole body. Some parts hurt more than others, of course. His left shoulder was throbbing quite persistently--he suspected it was that which had woken him up--and his right hand ached with a cold, unforgiving stiffness. He had a headache he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. Every joint seemed affected in some way. Whatever the morphine had done to quell the pain of his injuries, the effects had long, long since worn off.

The second thing he noticed was Heero.

They were lying very close together, Duo on his back and Heero his stomach, and someone, presumably Heero, had pulled the covers over them both in the night. With his head turned against his pillow but the rest of him motionless, it took Duo a moment to notice that they were only touching in one place: Heero's hand rested lightly on his forearm, fingers just curling into the inside of his elbow.

He hadn't forgotten anything that had happened the night before. Most memories of the hospital were blurred at best, but the images of every scene played out in the small hotel room were crystal clear. No, Duo hadn't forgotten.

He suddenly felt very sick. Ignoring his screaming body, he scrambled out of the bed in the direction of the bathroom, closing the door behind him and turning on the fan to drown out any noise. He might not have eaten for nearly two days, but that didn't stop him from dropping to his knees, hanging his head over the toilet bowl and heaving for a considerable amount of time.

A good five or ten minutes passed before Duo finally climbed to his feet, hitting the handle on the toilet and wondering of the contents were worth flushing. Gastric juices? Hydrochloric acid? _Again?_ Whatever it was, it wasn't meant to see daylight. He filled a glass with water and swirled the metallic-tasting liquid around in his mouth, then spat it back into the sink. Inventory time. He lifted his eyes to meet his twin's in the mirror, then swept his eyes over the reflection's body, mentally going over his own.

Everything about his appearance screamed _SEX!_ in bright, flashing, neon lettering. His hair was still mostly braided, but much of it had come loose in the previous night's activities, and it floated in a tangled halo around his head. His lips were swollen and almost bruised, and if he hadn't spent the last several minutes throwing up and washing his mouth out, he would also have been faced with the dry taste of saliva not his own on his tongue. He licked his lips, and scowled at the mirror. The mirror scowled back.

Distracted, Duo scratched irritably at the flaking white mess on his stomach, more damning evidence. He turned to grab a washcloth from the rack, intent on getting the stuff off, and was rewarded by a dull pain from behind. Ok, so sitting down would be awkward for the time being. Let alone walking normally. He soaked the cloth in cold water and idly bathed his torso, giving his body a final once-over.

There was a glaring red mark on his neck, just above the joint of his collarbone. Duo's scowl deepened even as he washed the last of the gunk off his stomach and rinsed the cloth again. God, he hated hickeys. Hated them with a passion. Sex was one thing. Bruises, bite marks, even (godammit, was that one on his chest?), but hickeys were so blatantly _obvious_. He _hated _them.

It became very obvious very quickly that Duo needed to get the hell out of that hotel room, and he needed to do it _now_. He splashed a few handfuls of water over his body, his face, under his arms, and over his head to smooth his errant hair. He tiptoed back into the bedroom and rummaged through Trowa's bag for a moment before pilfering a pair of jeans and a dark blue hooded sweatshirt. They were the only things that looked small enough to fit him--even then they were too big. Jamming his bare feet into his runners, he reached for the doorknob.

And paused.

He looked over his shoulder at Heero's still sleeping form. A resigning sigh pushed out of him and he walked back to the bed, eyeing the boy in it. Despite his mood, despite the memory of the previous night--or perhaps because of it?--he couldn't help but stare.

Duo's gaze was drawn first to the other boy's face, namely his closed eyes. The dark lashes stood out sharply against his cheek, the distorted slash of his eyebrows set in a slight frown, even in sleep. It was a comfort to see that Heero's lips were as puffy as his own, and he had a definite bite mark on the side of his neck. Duo couldn't help the lecherous smirk that twisted his mouth. Old habits die hard.

He wouldn't have thought such a complexion was possible. Heero's skin was _gold_, oaken, flawless over hard muscles and contrasting breathtakingly with his dark, tousled hair. Duo's eyes swept down the perfect shoulders, the powerful arms he had seen bend steel bars, wincing at the tiny white mark on his bicep. It was a souvenir of their first meeting, when Duo had shot him in Relena's defence. That had long been at the top of his list of the stupidest things he'd ever done--but after last night, it would have to settle for second place.

__

Christ, Maxwell, he grumbled inwardly. _How do you get into these situations?_

Heero shifted in his slumber, sighing into the pillow and demonstrating just how rippled his back could be. The sheet slipped lower over his hips, giving just the tiniest peek of the beautiful body they hid.

Something tugged painfully in Duo's chest. He didn't deserve that sculpture-perfect work of art. Didn't deserve the privilege of sleeping beside him, didn't even deserve to look at him. He pulled the covers deftly back over Heero's body, even going so far as to tuck them in at the other boy's sides. He took a step backwards, then another, until his back hit the door into the hallway.

The door closed behind him with a snick behind him. He walked a few cautious feet, refamiliarizing himself with that particular brand of pain, before picking up his pace hurrying out of the hotel.

*

Heero's eyes snapped open. They darted around the room warily, trying to remind him of where he was, and whether or not he was in danger. What had awoken him?

The remembrance of the previous night came back to him in a rush, and he bolted upright, throwing the covers back, looking for Duo. But the other boy was nowhere to be seen, in the bed or anywhere else in the room for that mater. The sweats he had been wearing remained where they had fallen beside the bed. Beyond that, the only hint that he had been there at all was the scent that clung to the sheets--partly cheap hotel shampoo, partly a heady musk, and partly just Duo, a scent all its own.

A noise caught his attention, and he turned to see Trowa closing the door as he stepped inside. The taller boy eyed him inquisitively as he toed off his shoes.

"How did Duo manage to get past you without waking you up?"

Heero's mouth opened and closed several times. "Expert of stealth," he finally answered. "He can get past anyone if he tries hard enough."

"He didn't look like he was trying to do much more than just get out," Trowa remarked as he made his way to the other bed--which was pristine and unused, seeming to mock Heero with its neatness--and lay on it with a tired sigh.

"You saw him?" Heero demanded. "Where? When?"

"Just now," came the muffled response, the sound slightly impaired by Trowa's hands as the worked to massage away a headache or some such. "He said he was going out for a coffee."

It took almost all of Heero's Perfect Soldier instincts to keep him from launching out of bed right there. Instead, he leaned over the edge, looting around on the floor for his jeans, pulling the boxers out of the legs and surreptitiously onto his own body. That done, he allowed himself enough leeway to peel back the covers and get to his feet.

Trowa sat up and yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth. "There's a task force out to sweep the old mall and the area around it later today," he said, misinterpreting to questioning look on his friend's face. "They had me there nearly all night, but I didn't know anything they could use--they should have asked you, or Duo even." The taller boy broke off his uncharacteristically long sentence and looked him over. "Though it looks like you found something to do to occupy your time."

Heero felt his usual scowl creeping into his face. He didn't need a mirror to know he looked like shit. His hair was even messier than usual, his stomach itched, and his whole mouth just felt _weird._ He looked away and pulled his jeans and t-shirt back on, not bothering to try and summon enough patience for a shower. If he smelled, he didn't care. "Where did he go?" he demanded.

Trowa shrugged, an awkward motion as he was on his back with his hands behind his head. "Check the coffee shops around the hotel. Not many are open this early, so if you find one that is, that's where he'll be."

A curt nod and a pause to find his runners, and Heero was out the door.

Trowa didn't even look up.

He was right--there were almost no cafés open at this hour, not to mention there weren't many cafés to begin with. God, this colony was a piece of junk and no mistake. How could Duo live here? Anyone would go stir-crazy before a few months could pass. But then, he reasoned, Duo _had_ grown up here, and had survived much worse.

He was getting desperate. None of the few places he had stuck his head into showed any sign of the boy he was looking for, and he was sure he had gone into some of them twice. At last, he came across a tiny, humble little place, nestled in between two buildings. The air around it was flavoured with coffee and chocolate, and despite its haphazard appearance, the little shop seemed to reach for him with open arms. Steeling himself, Heero pushed the door open, starting at the tinkling of chimes beside his ear, and walked inside.

Duo looked up at the sound, and across a small sea of empty tables and chairs, violet eyes met blue.

*

Duo was very tempted to just get up and try to make it out the back door, but he knew Heero had seen him. Those blue eyes pinned him in his seat, and instead he opted for simply pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his dishevelled hair and pushing back into his chair. He didn't bother to acknowledge the other boy's presence further. Heero would find him.

He watched Heero move the through the small shop, looking around at the cozy sofas, the gas fireplace in the corner, the cheerful artwork that adorned the brick walls. He almost smiled. Heero looked so out of place in that little café--it was just too homey for him. Dr. J may have made him the perfect soldier, but he would always be conspicuous. 

Heero finally picked up a small Styrofoam cup at the counter and pushed a lid onto it, and Duo managed to look away as the boy paid the cashier and resumed his trek across the shop. He stared resolutely at the wall as long as he could, only resetting his gaze on Heero when he set the coffee on the table and sat down.

"Morning, Heero." He managed to say it without his voice catching.

"Morning."

Duo stared at his cup of hot chocolate--he hated coffee--and pushed the whipped cream around with a stir stick. He could feel Heero's eyes on him, burning him, and he hunched into his sweater. For once in his life, he could think of nothing to say.

Heero raised his coffee to his lips and took a cautious sip at the hot liquid. Duo watched his golden hands wrap around the cup, warming against it, slowly releasing as the Japanese boy leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his wild hair.

"That wasn't you first time, was it?"

Duo looked up slowly. "First time what?" he asked, stalling.

"Having sex. With another guy."

Trust Heero to cut straight to the point. "No." He paused. "Was it yours?"

There was no hesitation when Heero answered. "Yes." 

Duo looked his friend over. He didn't look any different--even sluggish and confused, Heero managed to look nothing short of gorgeous. Damn him. He wasn't making Duo's job any easier.

"Are you sore?"

__

Gah! Did he see no awkwardness here? "Yes." Duo threw back a mouthful of hot chocolate as though he wished it was alcoholic. It wasn't, but it was hot enough to burn his throat as it went down. He swore.

Finally, he met Heero's eyes. The other boy was watching him carefully, like Trowa watched his lions. "Do you regret it? What we did last night?"

This time, Heero took time to consider his answer. When he did speak, he did so with conviction. "No." He searched Duo's face. "Do you?"

__

Here it comes. Duo sighed. He knew Heero wouldn't leave him alone until he got an answer, and this would take more than one or two words. But Shinigami never lies, and running and hiding had failed. He sat up straighter, wincing at the persistent reminder of his actions, and pushed off his hood. He looked the boy across from him straight in the eye.

"I've been here for two years," he told his friend. "In case you haven't noticed, this place is as boring as they come, I'm only here 'cause it's cheap. But I can tell you now, there is NOTHING to do here. Nothing. So what do I do? I play with my scrap, and I sleep around."

Heero's expression didn't change. He merely kept watching Duo with the same intensity he had since he got there. It was disconcerting.

"There's a continuum, Heero. See, some people will meet, date, fall in love and then have sex. On the other end, there's people who meet, have sex and likely never see each other again. Needless to say, these ones usually don't involve love, or if they do, its disastrous. But listen up, buddy, 'cause what we did doesn't even register on the spectrum: Meet, fight, be best friends on and off for two years, alienate for a year and a half, meet out of the blue, experience major crisis, and have sex… It kinda doesn't fit. It's just--that's not the way it usually goes, you know?

"I've been having casual sex for two years. With anyone. I had one person I actually dated for a month or so. It fell through. Everyone else I saw once or twice and then never worried about again. The whole 'no strings attached' thing, got it? No one got hurt.

"But you're my friend, Heero. My _best _friend, when you're not holding a gun to my head. There will be strings attached here. I'll see you again, talk to you again. I know you. I _like _you. I--"

Duo stopped himself before the last of that particular phrase could get out of him mouth. Those troublesome words could wait. He took a few deep breaths, recirculating the blood around his brain, trying to figure out a way to say this without getting himself in over his head.

"I wasn't thinking. Usually I'll make sure no one's getting into anything they don't understand, including me. I don't put sex and relationships in the same category, you know? They don't go together. They are independent of one another. Sex goes in this box, relationships in that box. Don't let 'em mix, it'll just cause problems.

"So do I regret it? Yes, by _God_ I regret it! It is now officially at the top of the list labelled 'Great Big Fuck-Ups of Duo Maxwell.' I do not have sex with my friends, and I sure as _hell_ don't have sex with the _one _person that I--"

Damn. There he went again. When would he learn to shut up? Duo bit his tongue and closed his eyes. Not soon enough, he hadn't quite stopped soon enough. The cat was out of the bag. And boy, was it an ugly cat, all teeth, claws and hissing. 

Heero, being the Perfect Soldier and up to any challenge, seized the cat by its tail. "Duo." Something in his voice gave him no choice but to open his eyes and meet Heero's. "Are you in love with me?"

"I don't lie, Heero," Duo replied, not letting any emotion colour his voice. The result had him sounding disturbingly like the boy he was talking to. "I am. Yes. I'm in love with you."

*

There was a long, long moment of complete silence. The small café was almost empty, and it seemed that even the cashier had taken a smoking break.

Heero opened his mouth, but Duo got up, staring out the window beside him, and started talking before he could say anything.

"You're an idiot if you didn't know that. I've only ever loved you, that's why I avoid relationships. I know what happens when you love someone and they don't love you back. I thought if I kept you separate from the sex, I would forget that I wanted you so badly--and it worked for a while."

His voice had dropped to a whisper. "I've always loved you. Just, until last night, I'd forgotten what that meant."

Heero released a long breath. He felt like a separate entity watching the scene from a third chair. This was not happening. "And you feel like you've wrecked it."

"Damn right."

"That's quite a speech."

The other boy pouted. It would have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but on Duo it stood out in dark irony, a childish expression contradiction his earlier jaded words. "Hey, that could have been a term paper. I got it into a few paragraphs. Be proud."

Heero bit his lip. "Are you finished, then?"

"No." Duo now greatly resembled a toddler, spent after a temper tantrum. Drained. Deflated. No longer caring what happened. He leaned forward in the window frame and pressed his forehead to the glass. "Damn it, Heero, you gave me a _hickey_. I _hate_ hickeys."

He nearly laughed. Whatever he expected Duo's last comment to be, it wasn't that. He decided against it.

__

Well, now what? Heero felt helpless, and it wasn't a feeling he liked. He got somewhat dizzily to his feet and joined Duo at the window. It was as though he was dreaming. Very, very hesitantly, he reached out, took the smaller boy by the shoulder, and pulled him into his arms.

The gesture was met by no resistance. Duo folded easily and pliantly into the embrace, even if he made no move to return it. Instead, Heero held him tightly, very unsure of what to do next, but not willing to let go. It should have been awkward. But it wasn't, really. It was natural.

"Duo, you're crying." The shaking of the slender body beneath his hands had caught his attention.

"I am not."

Heero tightened his arms as Duo swiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. "I thought you didn't lie."

"I don't. Fine. I'm crying. Don't rub it in." Duo turned his face into Heero's shoulder. "Why are you doing this?"

"What else am I supposed to do?" Heero asked honestly. "Isn't this what they do in the stories?"

Duo sighed. "Real life isn't like the stories, Heero."

"I know." He brought a tentative hand to the back of Duo's head and pulled his half-unbound braid out from underneath the shirt. "But we can pretend sometimes, can't we?"

That left only one thing left to do. If he was going to do it like the stories, he was going to do it right. He pulled away slightly, put a finger under Duo's chin and lifted his face. And then he kissed him.

The boy in his arms melted. Maybe it was the lethargy of the early morning, or the creamy sedative of Duo's hot chocolate. Or maybe this really was how it happened in the stories. But it was sweet. So sweet.

"Come back with me and Trowa," Heero whispered when they drew apart reluctantly. "We can work this out. I've missed you, Duo."

Were those leftover tears or fresh ones? "And… can we pretend it's like the stories, sometimes?"

__

Oh, Duo. Such an adult. But such a child. Heero touched the other boy's wet cheek, and pressed his lips to the golden-brown hair. "Why just pretend?"

Duo didn't answer. He just kissed him again.

__

There is a love in me raging

Alegria

A joyous, magical feeling

***

__

Finis.

Disclaimers: Heero, Duo, Trowa and anyone else I mentioned from the GW show belong to Sunrise and Ban Dai and all those people--not me! I really wish they did, but they don't, so I borrow them once in a while. The song from chapter 1 was "Hero" by Chad Kroeger and Joesy Scott, off the _Spiderman _soundtrack. The song from chapter 2 was "TNT for the Brain" by Enigma, from the album _Le Roi est Mort, Vive le Roi!_ The last song is "Alegria" by Cirque do Soleil, from the soundtrack of the show by the same name.


End file.
